


The Wall (All My Armor Falling Down)

by thecarlysutra



Series: Iceman Kazansky's Family Tree is Missing Some Branches, But He Turned Out Okay [1]
Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: 1970s, 1990s, Boarding School, Boys Kissing, Broken Bones, Broken Families, Brother-Sister Relationships, Childhood, Coming of Age, Confessions, Corporal Punishment, Falling In Love, First Love, Growing Up, Healing, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury, Injury Recovery, Kissing, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Military, Period-Typical Homophobia, Permanent Injury, Post-Coital, Post-Coital Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Siblings, Secrets, Siblings, Trust, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 08:04:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19080895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlysutra/pseuds/thecarlysutra
Summary: Pink and Velvet requested a coming of age story about Ice discovering his sexuality, and then Maverick trying to learn that stuff about Ice.  You could definitely read this story as the missing piece betweenThe Restoring Forceandmy Storm series, but this is a standalone fic with no required reading beforehand. Please see tags for warnings.All my armor falling downcomes from Fiona Apple's "Pale September."





	The Wall (All My Armor Falling Down)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pink_and_Velvet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/gifts).



  
Tom was eight when he noticed. A lot of the boys in his class teased the girls and accused them of having cooties, like their sex was a disease, and it was catching. Tom didn’t think that girls had cooties. He didn’t think much of anything about them. When he was eight, his sister, Sasha, was twelve, and sometimes her friends would bring over tattered copies of _Seventeen_ and _Tiger Beat_ that they’d gotten secondhand from _their_ older sisters, and they’d talk about boys. Not just the pretty boys in the magazines with their plush lips and feathered hair, but boys at school, too, who were beautiful in a different way. 

And it was on that realization that Tom noticed he was different. And he asked Bobby Mills about it at recess one day, and after that he never said a goddamn word about it to anyone, because as soon as the words left his mouth, Bobby gave him a look like _he_ had cooties, but for real. Like there was something wrong with him that Bobby might catch. And they didn’t talk anymore after that even though Bobby had been his best friend since kindergarten. 

That year, Tom learned a lot. He learned that he liked boys the way his sister liked boys, and he learned not to tell anyone about it. But he wasn’t afraid of it. He wasn’t afraid of anything, and as he got older, he didn’t tell anyone about how he liked boys, but he did spend a lot of time letting them get him into trouble. 

***

Tom was sixteen the first time he fell in love. He’d liked boys and wanted them for a long time. He’d kissed some, hidden away in the dorms and empty classrooms of the boarding school his father sent him to starting at grade six, and even let Aaron Turner give him a blow job in the locker room after lacrosse practice once. But that had all just been fun. Things were different now, with Miles. 

Miles had just started at the academy in October, transferred in mid-semester for reasons no one could get out of him. At first, he and Tom jockeyed for top marks in the classes they shared, and Tom had been annoyed, really, more than anything. And then it had been nice, having someone on his level, and then they’d decided to do their science fair project together, and one night of working on the project together had turned into kissing, and then more, Tom squirming on Miles’s bed beneath him with Miles’s hand over his mouth so no one could hear him moaning through the thin walls, and the next thing Tom knew, he was in deep. 

He felt truly vulnerable, unsure of himself, for the first time in his life, and he hated and loved it in equal measure. 

They were quiet about it. It wasn’t allowed, of course, and Tom remembered his lesson from Bobby Mills: that there was something some people would see wrong with it even if there hadn’t been a rule against cadets having sex. A part of him wanted to tell people. He was so enamored that it was hard to think about anything else, and he thought Miles was amazing and wanted everyone else to know, too. And he felt special. He’d never had anyone value him like this, no one but his sister, and that was different. He thought about telling her. Sasha was the only other person who truly loved or cared for him, so maybe she’d be happy for him. She’d told him once, before she left home, that she worried about him. She wanted him to be happy. He was happy now, with Miles, so she’d want to hear about it, right? 

He wrote her a letter. It took him over an hour and ended up just a few sentences that were totally inadequate to describe Miles or how he was feeling. He tore the letter into tiny pieces and threw it away, but not because he couldn’t get the words right. He couldn’t risk losing her. 

They were quiet about it. They were careful. And it lasted almost six months before they got caught. 

It happened the worst way. The dorm supervisor smelled pot smoke in the hallway and burst into the wrong room looking for it. Instead he found Miles fucking Tom on his bed, both of them without a stitch of clothing or any hope of deniability. He shouted, and half the floor came out of their rooms to watch Miles and Tom scramble to dress themselves so they could be led to the headmaster’s office. 

Tom was a good student. He followed the rules. He’d never been in trouble at school. 

He was in trouble now. 

They were both beaten, one at a time. Miles first, with Tom listening to him cry out from the other side of the headmaster’s door. That ended up being worse than his own punishment, hearing Miles in pain and knowing it was his fault and there was nothing he could do to stop it. 

That night Tom lay on his stomach on his bed, still as he could because every movement was agony, and tried without success to think of anything but Miles’s howls from the headmaster’s office. 

They were told to stay away from each other. Maybe Miles was listening; they still had classes together, but Miles didn’t even look at him. Tom waited. He waited for his welts to heal, which meant Miles’s would have, too. Miles still stayed away from him. This hurt worse than anything. 

For the first time in his life, Tom defied a direct order. He went after Miles, waiting for him when their English class got out. Miles didn’t stop, so Tom followed him. 

“Hey,” Tom said. “Are you okay? Can we just talk for a minute?”

Miles put his locker door between them. “No. Not anymore.”

Tom lowered his voice. “I miss you.”

He thought he saw Miles’s eyes focus on him through the vents in the locker door, but it was only for a moment, so he couldn’t be sure. 

“Well, stop,” Miles said. “I can’t see you. I can’t even talk to you. You know that.” 

“I love you,” Tom said. Desperately, stupidly. 

Miles slammed his locker shut. “Stop that, too.”

“I know that you love me, too,” Tom whispered. 

Miles looked at him. There was sadness in that look, but maybe pity, too. “You don’t know shit, Kazansky. Stay away from me. I mean it.” 

Tom was sixteen the first time he fell in love. And he was sixteen the first time he got his heart broken. It was a lesson, just like Bobby Mills. Don’t tell anyone you’re gay. Build a wall around your heart, and don’t let anyone in until you’re sure they won’t break it. 

Tom built his wall brick by brick. He built himself armor, too. He didn’t talk as much. He didn’t laugh as freely. Those were just cracks people could slip in through. He kept his head down and he worked harder than he’d ever worked in his life. He had a perfect GPA and took the lacrosse team to State that year. When he came home for the summer, none of that mattered. The academy had told his father about the incident with Miles. He got called a faggot to his face for the first time, and his father broke his nose and two of his ribs. He was then sent to his room, but the next day, while their father was at work, Tom called Sasha to take him to get his nose fixed. She cried when she saw his face, but steeled her jaw and told him to get in the car. In the ER, waiting for a doctor in an exam room, she sat next to him, pulled him against her so his head was on her shoulder and her arm was around him, gently because of his ribs. She petted his hair, and asked why their father had been so angry. 

Tom told her. He told her everything, voice flat, even. She listened quietly until he was finished speaking, and then she hugged him and kissed his face. She was crying again, but she looked him in the eye and said, “Tommy, I love you. I love you more than anything. Everything’s going to be okay. I promise. I’m going to make it okay.” 

***

It was 1978 and no one cared if you beat your kid, but sending him to the hospital was a mistake. Sasha leveraged it. She got copies of Tom’s x-rays and all five feet, five inches of her stood toe to toe with their father, a Vice Admiral and a physically imposing man, big like Tom was growing up to be, and told him what was going to happen. She was twenty and a waitress living in a small apartment in the city, with no man and no education. But she was going to take Tom now, and he was going to live with her until he was old enough to go out on his own, or she would take the x-rays to the police and the press. 

Tom was afraid their father would hit her. But he didn’t. He didn’t even yell. 

“He graduates from that school,” their father said. “I’ll pay for it, expenses and all, but you see that he finishes. Promise me that, and I won’t fight you on any of the rest of it.” 

Sasha looked at Tom. “Is that okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s… yeah, I’ll do it.” 

“It’s a deal,” Sasha said. She kept the x-rays in one hand and took Tom’s in the other as they walked away from their parents’ house for the last time. 

***

Tom was valedictorian. Sasha cried at his graduation, and hugged him so hard it took the air from his lungs. 

Their parents did not attend the ceremony, but their father sent Tom a card with fifty dollars in it, and a note that said he’d send another fifty if Tom would write him with his plans for secondary education. 

“I’ll give you a hundred _not_ to tell him,” Sasha said. 

“He’s gonna find out.”

“It’ll make him too happy,” she groused. 

Tom smiled wryly. “I know it’s not what you want for me, but I think it might make _me_ happy.”

Sasha sighed. She petted his hair, hugged him. “ _That_ is what I want for you, Tommy.” 

“Say it,” he said softly. 

She hugged him tighter. “He’s not the way he is because of the Navy. You’re not him. You’re never going to be like him.”

***

Sasha moved to Annapolis. Tom wouldn’t have a lot of free time, but after he graduated he’d be deployed, and who knew how often they’d get to see each other then? 

He made time for her. He studied and he worked and he kept playing lacrosse, but most of his free time went to Sasha. 

One night near the end of his first year, he came to stay for the weekend. She made spaghetti, and after dinner they sat on the couch and watched a movie on TV. 

“There’s something I want to say to you,” she said. Her eyes were on the TV, the only light in the room, but he looked at her, the shadows dancing on her face. “I don’t want you to get upset, and I know you might, but I need to say it.” 

“You can tell me anything,” he said. 

“It’s okay to let someone in. I know how scary it is, but pretty soon you’re going to go places I can’t follow you, and I don’t want you to be alone.” 

Tom’s sinuses pinched, and he flushed high up on his cheeks, which were the usual precursors to him crying. He took a deep breath, released it slowly. 

Sasha put her arm around him. He let himself fall against her, his head on her shoulder. 

“At least make some friends, Tommy. And be open to the possibility that you might find someone to love.” 

“I’ll, um, I’ll try.” 

She kissed his temple. “That’s all you can do.” 

“When are you going to find a man?” he asked, tone teasing and light. 

She raised an eyebrow. “You want to talk about my sex life, little brother?” 

“God, no.”

She laughed, and after a moment, he joined in. 

***

It was seven years after TOPGUN, and Iceman was shot down over the Gulf. He woke up in a foreign hospital, the world around him spinning because of the drugs in his system, the lights too bright, everything too vivid and too loud. He looked down at himself and saw bandages and IV lines and wires for monitors. He tried to sit up and couldn’t. He couldn’t move. He shouted, heard a monitor make some horrible, shrill alarm. It was like the noise of the plane going down, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. People in scrubs ran into his room, surrounded him, their hands on his body. Someone put a mask over his face, and he tried to rip it off, so someone else held him down while the mask was secured with an elastic band around his head. Someone put a needle in his IV, and he felt something burn up his arm. They were all talking to him, a language he couldn’t understand, and he tried to scream, but no sound came out. 

Then everything went black. 

***

When he next woke, he woke slowly. Everything was _less_ than before, calmer, more like the reality he was used to. 

Someone was speaking to him in a soft, soothing voice. They were petting his hair. 

“Sasha?” he croaked. 

She smiled. “Hey, sleepy-head. How are you feeling?” 

“Are you—are you in Iraq?” 

“No, honey, but neither are you. We’re in Saudi Arabia.” 

“Can you… can you tell me what’s wrong with me?” 

“Your plane—” 

“I remember that. What… my injuries.” 

She frowned. “The doctors haven’t talked to you?” 

“I don’t remember. I want… please, Sasha, I want to hear it from you. If you can.” 

“Okay,” she said softly. “You broke some bones on your right side. Part of your pelvis and the head of your femur. They were… it was a really serious injury, Tommy. They did three surgeries. They’ve replaced most of the broken bone, and they’ve put in plates and screws.”

He nodded slowly, taking it in. “What else?” 

“Um, a head injury, which may explain why you can’t remember if you’ve talked to the doctors. Some… there was some swelling in your brain, and some bruising, but they think it’s mostly healed up. And burns. You have some burns on your arms and chest, but the doctors said they’re not bad enough to need grafts.”

“Is that it?” 

She bit her lip. “Well, the injury to your hip. It’s… you’re looking at a long recovery.” 

“Until I can fly again?” 

Her reply was quiet. “Until you can _walk_ again, Tommy.” 

He took it like a blow. Rode it out, exhaling slowly. “Okay. Am I paralyzed? I… the other day, I couldn’t move.” 

“That was probably the drugs,” she said gently. “You’ve been under full anesthesia three times in the last ten days, and you’re on a lot of pain medicine. You’re not paralyzed. The recovery from your hip injury is going to be about the muscles and bone healing, and learning to live with the scar tissue.”

“Okay. Thanks, Sasha. For telling me. I know it wasn’t easy.” 

“You’re welcome. Do you want anything? Do you want to sit up?” 

“Yes.” 

She helped him, adjusting the bed slowly. He looked at her from eye level this time. She looked tired, and he wondered how long she’d been beside him, watching over him. 

“I’m really glad you’re here,” he said. “How long can you stay?”

“As long as you need me.” 

He frowned. “What about Dave and the kids?” 

She set her jaw. “I am not going anywhere until you’re back on your feet, Tom.” 

“Okay,” he said. “White flag. I surrender.” He reached out a hand to her. She took it, squeezed gently. 

“Thanks,” he said. 

She smiled. “You can’t get rid of me. I’m in for the long haul, you pain.” 

“I’m sorry, Your Holiness, I didn’t realize your sainthood had been confirmed. Though I did think you had to be dead to be canonized.” 

She laughed. Rolled her eyes. Pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You are such a brat. I can’t believe you are on this much morphine and can still remember the word _canonized_. Get some rest, Tommy. I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

He smiled. “I know.” 

***

The recovery he was looking at was worse than he’d imagined. It would be weeks before he could even leave his hospital bed, because his grafted femur couldn’t hold his weight. He was having nightmares when he slept, which wasn’t new, but everything about his shell shock was worse now. He started physical therapy on his back in the hospital bed, and they had the other kind of therapist come to talk to him, too. He suggested medication, antidepressants, and Ice snapped, “I’m not depressed, and I’m not crazy” before telling him to leave. 

Sasha stayed with him all the time. She tried to keep his spirits up, and he tried to let her. 

Ice had been in the hospital almost a month when his captain came to see him. Ice sat up straight, saluted, but Burgess looked sheepish, almost, and said, “At ease, son.” 

Ice relaxed, leaning back into the plush base of the hospital bed. Burgess smiled at Sasha, and asked if she minded giving him a minute alone with Ice. 

“It’s okay,” Ice said, and she nodded, left the room, closing the door behind her. 

“I came to see you a couple times during your first weeks here. I don’t know if you remember.” 

He didn’t. “No, sir. Sorry.” 

Burgess shook his head. “It’s all right, Commander. The doctors are giving me good updates on your progress. They tell me you’re working hard to get out of here.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“It’s still going to be a while before I can put you back in a plane,” Burgess said. 

It stung. Ice knew that already, but to hear it out loud from his commanding officer hurt. 

“Yes, sir,” he said. 

“That’s if you want to go back up,” Burgess continued. “You have not met your commitment in terms of years, but you’ve served well, and this injury… I’ll give you an honorable discharge if you want, son. You can let your sister take you home, take as long as you need to get back on your feet. Fly commercial, if you want, when you’re ready.”

Ice felt like he’d swallowed barium. Never fly a fighter again? This was a setback, but he had never for a second thought of doing anything but getting healthy enough to get back in the cockpit. 

“I… is that what you want to do, sir?” 

Burgess’s expression was kind. “I want to know what _you_ want, Commander.” 

“I’m not beat yet. I want to serve my country, and I want to fly a real plane.” 

Burgess chuckled. “Commendable, Commander. We need to talk about your recovery. Logistics. You can take your shore leave while you’re healing, if you want. I’ll sign off on whatever you need. But it’ll be a lot of time off, and I don’t really think it’s right to make a man use his leave to recuperate. I also imagine you’ll be bored as hell.”

“You’re right about that, sir.” 

“I have an idea. I’d like to know what you think. You were Top Gun in ’86, weren’t you?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“I hear they’re hurting for instructors since Viper left. You could take a year, go teach in Miramar. Keep up with your rehab, come back to the Farragut when the doctors clear you for active duty.” 

Miramar felt like another lifetime. Still, there was something attractive about the offer, something beyond the possibility of being active and useful while he was recovering. 

“Mitchell still in charge over there?” Ice asked. Trying for casual, not sure if he’d managed it. 

“I believe so. You flew together; are you friends?” 

“Not really.”

“Still, a familiar face while you’re going through this…? It’ll probably help.” 

Ice nodded. “Okay. See if they’ll take me.” 

Burgess laid a hand on his shoulder. “Will do. Keep your chin up, Commander; I want you back in the air for me, understand?” 

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” 

Sasha came back when Burgess left. She studied Ice’s face. “Everything okay?” 

He nodded. “Yeah. He wants me to go teach at TOPGUN after the hospital releases me, while I’m healing.” 

“That’s a great idea!” she said. Then, softer, “Isn’t it? What’s wrong?”

He bit his lip. “Mitchell’s there. He’s actually running the place. He’d be my boss.” 

“Oh,” Sasha said. “I see. Tom, just… nothing has to happen, but how often does life give you a second chance to pick up something you missed?” 

“That’s a horrible idea,” he said, but he felt kind of giddy, thinking about it. 

“Love often is, honey,” she said. 

***

Two weeks later, the hospital released him. Mitchell had accepted Burgess’s offer, and Ice was to report to Miramar ASAP. He and Sasha took the same transport back to the States, a thirteen hour flight that split them up at JFK. 

She hugged him in the concourse before they headed off to their connections, crouching down to be eye to eye with him in his wheelchair. 

“I love you, Tommy,” she said. “Call me if you need anything. Or if you don’t. I need to know how you’re doing. You scared the hell out of me, you know?” 

“Sorry. Occupational hazard.” 

“Yeah. I figured out pretty early on that loving you was going to be stressful.” 

“Sasha…” 

“I’m kidding. Brat. Get healthy. Get strong. And about Mitchell…” 

“ _Sasha_.” 

“Just try, Tom. Try to be happy.” 

He felt his sinuses pinch. He swallowed, pushed it down. There wasn’t time for that. “Okay. I will. I promise.” 

***

Twelve hours later, Ice was lying in bed in Miramar, the hours until seeing Mitchell again dwindling to single digits. He was exhausted, but couldn’t find sleep. He found he could picture every angle of Mitchell’s face with perfect clarity nearly eight years later. He remembered the exact color of his eyes. 

Bad idea. This was a really, really bad idea. 

***

It was a bad idea, but hell, Mitchell always was one for a bad idea. It happened fast. Ice had been at TOPGUN for less than three weeks, on the ground teaching, either avoiding Mitchell or butting heads with him every second they were together, and then one night they’d come close to blows and had ended up kissing instead. 

Things went really fast after that.

Ice came home from rehab one night, showered, and called Sasha. He sat on the couch with the cordless phone, trying not to drum his fingers while they made small talk about his niece and nephew, about how physical therapy was going and how the pain was.

“I need to tell you something,” he said abruptly, cutting off a question about his medications. 

“Okay,” she said slowly. “You seem pretty wired. Are you okay?”

“I slept with Maverick.” 

The line was quiet for a moment. Ice fidgeted. He was about to ask her to say something, but then she spoke, and he understood from the tone of her voice the reason for the delay: she was trying not to laugh.

“That was fast,” she said, unable to suppress a giggle at the end.

“It—it’s going really fast, Sasha.”

“How fast are we talking?”

“We first kissed on Tuesday, and we’ve had sex five times since then.”

“ _Thomas_. It is _Thursday_.”

“I know. He’s going to come pick me up in a little while to take me out. Like on a date. A real date.” He closed his eyes, let his head fall back against the couch. “It feels like a drug. I liked him—I _like_ him—too much. It’s dangerous. I should cut and run.”

“Don’t be stupid. You’re crazy about him. Give it a chance.”

“He’s straight,” Ice said lamely.

She laughed again. “Obviously he isn’t.” Gentler: “Give it a chance, Tom. And one other thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Pace yourself. I’d hate for you to fracture your pelvis again.”

Ice groaned. “I hate you so much right now.”

“You love me,” she said sweetly. “Now, do the hard thing, and let _him_ love _you_.”

***

And he did. He did.

They were in bed together one night, an interlude where they got their breathing and heartbeats back to normal before going again, just laying lazy together, touching and kissing each other without urgency, just because it was nice, just because they could. Ice was on his back and Maverick was tucked up beside him on his side, running his fingers lightly over the muscles of Ice’s chest, his stomach, nuzzling his cheek, kissing his neck. Ice slid his fingers through Maverick’s hair, rubbing gently at the knobby bones at the base of his skull. Maverick made a pleased noise, animalistic, almost, and Ice’s chest shook with silent laughter.

“Can I ask you something, Ice?” Maverick said.

Ice looked down at him. His face was open, earnest, and that was surprising enough that Ice agreed. 

“Sure.”

“I … I mean, I heard you were gay. When we were at TOPGUN, you know, the first time.”

“That isn’t a question.”

“I just … have you always—has it always been guys, for you? Because you … I mean, before you, I never …” 

Ice knew that about him, but he liked to hear it. He liked the color that came to Maverick’s cheeks as he said it, the way he looked up at Ice from under his lashes, shy, almost.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s always been guys for me.”

“You’ve never been with a woman?”

“Never.” 

“Why not? I mean, they like you. I’ve seen the way they look at you at the O Club…”

Ice shrugged. “No interest.”

Maverick looked scandalized. “ _None_?”

“None,” Ice said, managing not to laugh.

Maverick traced the outline of the scar tissue on Ice’s right side, not touching the actual scars, which were a ticklish, almost painful kind of sensitive, but the skin right beside it. He’d learned enough about Ice’s body in the past months to know how to touch him so it wouldn’t hurt, and Ice appreciated that a whole helluva lot, and not just because he wanted to avoid pain. It was that Maverick _cared_ enough not to want to hurt him. 

“How’d you know?” Maverick said. “Well—shit, that’s not what I meant. I mean, I guess you knew you liked guys the way I first knew I liked girls. But … when? How old were you?”

Ice remembered exactly. Realizing the boys in Sasha’s magazines and the boys he knew at school were both beautiful, and Bobby Mills, and learning he had to hide it.

“I was eight,” he said softly.

Maverick laughed. “Wow, Ice. Early bloomer.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t _do_ anything with anybody until I was older. But that was the first time I realized…”

“Oh, okay. That makes more sense. When … when did you, you know, start doing stuff?”

Maverick wasn’t looking at him. Ice smiled. “You want some fuel for the spank bank, Maverick?”

Maverick blushed again, his mouth setting stubbornly. “No, I just … maybe I’m interested in you, Iceman.”

“Oh yeah?” Maverick shrugged, mulish. Ice gentled his tone. “Mav. Come on.”

Maverick looked at him, finally. “Okay. I am interested in you. I wanna … I wanna know stuff about you. Trying to get you to talk about yourself in any normal way is like interrogating a fucking CIA spook, so I thought, you know, I’d do it now. When you’re …”

“Vulnerable?”

“ _Agreeable_. Or at least as agreeable as you seem to get, you prickly fuck.”

Ice laughed quietly. He smoothed a few loose strands of Maverick’s hair out of his face.

“I lost my virginity at sixteen,” he said. “It was a disaster. It changed my whole life.” He paused. Then: “I wouldn’t change it.”

Maverick was enrapt. “Tell me about it.”

Ice hesitated. Maverick had learned to navigate the scars and broken parts of his body; would he do the same with the pain from Ice’s past? He’d have to drop his armor to find out. He’d have to take down the bricks from the wall surrounding his heart.

“Tom,” Maverick said softly.

Ice exhaled slowly. Looked at Maverick looking at him.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll tell you.”

***

Ice took a transfer to TOPGUN. He heard Captain Burgess was pissed at Maverick for snaking him, but that didn’t matter. He still had a lot of recovery ahead of him before he could get back in a plane, but maybe not going back to the Gulf would be good for him.

That was not at all the reason he chose to stay.

Ice had Maverick over for dinner after the session was over. He made spaghetti and garlic bread, a recipe Sasha had taught him. He had bought a bottle of red wine, but he wasn’t drinking.

There was something he had to say.

“I, um, I thought I would take some leave before the next class gets here,” Ice said.

Maverick put down his fork. “That’s fine, Ice. You don’t want to talk to me about this at work?”

“I thought I’d visit my sister,” Ice continued, like he hadn’t heard Maverick’s question.

“That’s good,” Maverick said slowly, studying his face. 

“I thought maybe you’d like to come with me,” Ice finished, speaking a little fast just to get the words out.

“Oh!” Maverick said. “Oh. Okay. Well, I … I mean, it’s been a while since I took a vacation …”

He was still studying Ice’s face, looking for clues that would help him understand everything Ice wasn’t saying. It was hard, but Ice knew he had to come clean.

"I’ve never introduced anyone I was seeing to my sister,” he said quietly. “You’d be the first.” 

Maverick grinned. "So, this is, like, a big deal, huh?" 

Ice wasn’t smiling. "This is a huge deal, Maverick. I need to know that you’re up for it." 

"Wild horses couldn’t keep me away, Iceman." 

Ice tried to frown. Couldn’t. As soon as his smile broke loose, he saw it reflected in Maverick’s face. Maverick reached across the table, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, reeled him in. Kissed him, his fingers trailing the column of Ice’s throat. 

"Your sister is going to _love me_ , Ice," he purred. "I promise. I will be so smooth, so charming…" 

Ice raised an eyebrow. "You?" 

"Yeah, me, Kazansky. Just watch." 

Ice grinned. His armor and the brick wall around his heart were down, maybe for good. He felt light, like he could fly without even getting in a plane.

“Can’t wait, Mitchell,” he said. “I can’t wait.”  



End file.
